Oh, lasagna. Again?

Congealed on the plate

Noodle, stiff and doughy

Ricotta, which I hate

Weird green things floating

In beef bought far too late

Can’t cut through this rubbery mess

Tell me again, dear, why I took you as a mate?

 

I wonder about the couple next door

They always come home so late

So glamorous and courteous

Even as they shut the gate

If only I could be like Katherine

Her hairdos so elaborate

She drives a fancy car

Her shoes always color coordinate

 

But you know what? Come in close

Perhaps you can relate

I heard some news about our neighbors

The oh-so-perfect Tates

Even though they seem serene

I hear things aren’t so great

You see, my dear, the rumor is

That Michael, CEO of the conglomerate?

Turns out despite appearances

His assets and estates

Are not so numerous after all

In fact, he owes the State

 

I also hear he isn’t home much

And finds ways to make her wait

He has an apartment in the city where

He conquests and is insatiate

And rumor also has it that

He goes to bars to bait

Supple young ladies and virile lads

Can you imagine? He must like to variate

 

But Katherine, too, I’ve heard it said

She ain’t no “Immaculate”

She has her “friends” she likes to serve

Like her tennis pro-teacher, Nate

I can’t believe how green he is

He can’t be more than twenty-eight

It’s shameless, really, a woman her age

God knows she must initiate

‘Cause why else would such a looker as he

Bother with her? It makes me so irate!

I also heard (and this must be true)

That he’s also her dealer for opiate

They get high together so it’s said

And it’s what helps maintain her weight

 

I pity them, really, it must be so hard

To live in constant vindicate

I mean, one does something awful

So the other must retaliate

I want you to know, Darling, if you ever did

Things so vile and so full of hate

Rest assured, my Love, I’d hunt you down

Slaughter you and self-immolate

Although, on second thought, I’m likely to

Go ahead and clean the slate

I’d hire someone to off you good

And be on my way with a jaunty gait

 

So for all their glossiness and gleam

Their champagne and whadya call it, “pate”?

I guess I’d rather be you and me

Even if we are quite second-rate

After all, it sounds exhausting

So tiring to carry the fate

Of being so fucking perfect

Like Mike and his Miss Kate the Great
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